


Waking Up

by FreakyPseudWriter



Category: Naruto
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Infinite Tsukuyomi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Post-Canon Fix-It, Tumblr request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyPseudWriter/pseuds/FreakyPseudWriter
Summary: After the war, Yamato wakes up. Not from the Infinite Tsukuyomi, that was long gone. But the longer the following day goes on, the more it feels like he's still dreaming.Reality can't be that good.





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> A request from my Tumblr:
> 
> Would you please write a thing for Yamato after Shipuden where he actually gets a decent ending and the happiness he deserves? 
> 
> Well, I hope I could deliver on that one ^^ I'm quite happy about this, but let me know how you guys think! :D

 

Sometimes, Yamato still thought he was living in the Tsukuyomi. Especially today, when he was waking up in his own bed, his limbs not feeling like there were invisible weights locking him into place. No pain in his head and his thoughts light from a happy dream. He learned to appreciate every awake, conscious moment when he was living in the ANBU barracks, because every moment meant he was _alive_. Now, after the Infinite Tsukuyomi and after the disorientating waking dream he had, which felt so real and achievable, Yamato couldn’t help himself, but believe that he didn’t really wake up back then, in the last waves of war.

The mattress was unusually soft, the blankets rich and thick, filled with feathers and other decadent materials a younger version of himself wouldn’t even think about. Things he purchased after his house were erased by the unwavering force of Pain and his six Paths. Everything had been gone, not that Yamato owned many mementos and personal items to begin with.

The man moved sluggishly beneath the sheets. The fabric of the blanket seemed almost too soft for his liking and still, Yamato stayed a little bit longer in the warm cocoon, before finally climbing out of the bed. Naked as he was, he stepped towards the wardrobe and ruffled through the clothing. A lot of Konoha-green, the typical black and grey of ANBU-armor, the blue of the standard-issued pants. Restlessly, the man scrambled through the piles, opened more cabinets, only to return to the usual flak vest, mesh shirt and pants.

The thing was… Today was his free day. And for the first time in years, Yamato didn’t want to wear something so familiar. His uniform resembled attention and wariness. Things he didn’t want to think about today.

There, right underneath all of these uniforms and armor and mesh. Some other clothing, not made out of stabile fabrics and not enforced by steel threads or anything like that. Light, colorful, in shinobi-standards, almost obscene.

Civilian clothing; Something Yamato hadn’t worn in years, except for the occasional spying and infiltration. Hesitantly, his fingertips brushed over the loose shirt, the simple shoes, the wide pants — that was without a clip to fasten a weapon bag to its belt.

 

Minutes later, Yamato looked at himself in the mirror right beside the wardrobe. The sleeves of the shirt were a little bit too short, barely reaching his wrists, but otherwise, he looked… Younger. A little bit more relaxed, not as tense. It was no wonder, after the days and weeks he put into the rebuilding of Konoha. So many houses in the inner circle of the city were built with his chakra and his sweat. So many in fact, that Yamato stopped counting them. He only knew that it felt like he built all the existing apartments and flats on his own, even though he currently could hear the construction work going on the street. Loud shouts and orders flew through the air, the hammers worked relentlessly, planks were carried and quickly used. Konoha was growing fast, but the horrors of being attacked that easily was still nestled in the bones of the inhabitants. Together with the quick war which had followed and the uncertainty coming alongside such big fights, the civilians were surprisingly calm and collected.

Only a few weeks after the Fourth Shinobi War ended.

An especially loud shout ripped Yamato out of his thoughts. Right, what time was it? Kakashi-senpai wanted to meet up, before “the Hokage-duty would constantly tie him to the desk”. It should be noon soon; the time when the other man wanted to meet him at Ichiraku’s. With a heavy sigh, Yamato took a look at his money and sighed, before placing a few more bills in his pockets. He knew his senpai and also the persuasive power the older man had. More than once, Yamato had to pay for his mistake of listening too much to Kakashi.

Very expensive mistakes. He was still crying over the many times he had to pay for Kakashi’s and Naruto’s binging streaks at the ramen stand. He also needed to shop for a few vegetables and fruits.

Yamato left the bare flat, all the while his thoughts suddenly circled around decorations and possible ways to make his place a little bit cozier and more welcoming. Maybe a few plants? A couch other than the old, worn-down thing which already stood there when he moved in? It was unfamiliar, to think about the place where his bed stood as something where he could relax and enjoy himself, not just stay and wait until it was time for the next mission. But after the war and the imprisonment he suffered under (even though some would argue that he didn’t even feel any of the chakra draining or that the Tsukuyomi hadn’t even been real), the man felt… tired. Weary, worn down by the years of duty and the many dangerous missions he fulfilled. This little rebellion of wearing civilian clothes today was only one of many signs in a long line of signs he showed over the last weeks.

Longing glances over the quickly building markets. The increased time he spent in bed, just enjoying the soft blankets and pillows. More time in teahouses, testing different kinds of tea and listening to the zither-players after he did the work of the day. Walking around the woods of Konoha when he managed to squeeze a little bit of free time in between rebuilding Konoha, neglected training and mission debriefing.

 

The noise of a busy village greeted him when he stepped outside. He could feel the sun on his unusually exposed skin and for a mere moment, Yamato just enjoyed the feeling. The weak breeze, the warmth — the feeling of being alive. Then, after a short smile flashed over his face, the shinobi off-duty dove into the sea of people, mixed and mingled with them.

When he was in his uniform, people automatically made space for him; That was the first thing Yamato realized as he walked through the streets and had to avoid crashing into grocery-shoppers, construction workers and happy families. Usually, there would be just enough space for him to walk even through the densest group, even when he decided to walk around them and make space. Somehow, in a strange way, Yamato liked to be this invisible, therefore, the little smile as he arrived at Ichiraku’s wouldn’t vanquish.

To his surprise, not only Kakashi-senpai was waiting for him.

“Yamato-taichou!” Naruto nearly fell out of his chair in his excitement, waving and grinning from ear to ear. “There you are! We were waiting for eternities!”

At his excited shout, the rest of Team 7 also turned their heads. There was Sakura, deep shadows underneath her eyes from just another shift in the hospital, but still smiling. Sai, who tried to smile, but failed miserably (Yamato appreciated the effort though) and the member of Team 7 he knew the least, Sasuke Uchiha, freshly returned and his face not as tense as it usually was.

A chorus of voices welcomed him, while Yamato wiped the low curtains aside and stepped into the small venue.

“Hello, Yamato-taichou!”

“Yamato-san.”

“Captain.”

And last but not least, his nose like always buried in his perverse book and giggling sometimes to himself, was Kakashi-senpai. Even now, with the duty of the Hokage-coat waiting, his old ANBU-captain acknowledged his presence with a little wave over his shoulder. A massive gesture, measured at the fact that the masked man usually ignored incoming people.

With a little sigh, Yamato sat on the last empty stool, right between Kakashi and Naruto. The small stall was filled to the brim and the old man Ichiraku looked ecstatic at the sight of earning so much money in one single seating. The intense scent of noodle broth filled Yamato’s nose and his mouth started to water.

 

Team 7. Yamato’s lips curled up into a light smile. As far as he was concerned, these teens were just as much his children than they were Kakashi’s. Sure, he only knew them for a little less than a year, but during that time, he got to know them on the most basic level. Naruto, Sakura and Sai. Being their captain had been such an experience for Yamato, such a brash change to the life in ANBU. Almost no rules and guidelines, just the general shinobi codex. And even that codex was almost non-existent in Team 7, in the entire next generation, when Yamato really thought about it. A new way for shinobi. That path was what Naruto paved for every following child who would become a ninja in this world, in every village. Yamato liked to think that he also had a part in this. A small part of him was also out there and shaped the years to come.

“You’re grinning to yourself.” Kakashi mumbled, still paging through his book. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Naruto leaned over, his face with the whiskers and wide eyes almost uncomfortably close to Yamato’s. Thankfully, he was used to it by now. “Eeeh, Yamato-taichou! I only noticed now, but you’re wearing normal clothes! What about being always on duty?”

“Today is my free day. I deserve it, don’t you think?”

“I mean, totally! You can build houses like no one does and you did so much over the last weeks!”

Yamato tried to hold up his smile, but it was hard. “That’s not my only talent, Naruto, you know?”

Always people reduced him only on his talent to build houses in seconds. It was infuriating and at the same time, depressing.

But before the man could lament further about the mistreatment of his surroundings, Kakashi chimed in, always securing the page where he was at with a single, well-placed thumb. “Aaah, that reminds me. The council said something about that matter.”

“Do I need to make them even higher than they are now?”

“No.”

Silence. Only the sizzle of the stove and the sloshing of the noodle soup could be heard. Even the other teens were looking at Kakashi, more or less waiting for the man to continue. Sometimes, Yamato asked himself if his senpai just really loved to play pranks on people and only pretended to forget about the world around him or if he really disassociated, his mind wandering off into another realm.

 

He was so close to call the other man out, but then a page was flipped and a giggle echoed through the small stall. Everyone present was deadpanned and groaned loudly, Naruto adding even a disgruntled “Kakashi-sensei!”.

The jonin looked up, little creases around his eyes. “Hm? Oh sorry. What did we talk about again?”

“Something about the houses I built.” Yamato sighed. In the little pause, Teuchi quickly dispersed different bowl with deliciously-smelling broth, vegetables, meat and noodles. The smell whiffed through the air, making the man nearly drool all over the counter. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with them. In fact, they are that good that the council wants to make known who is responsible for building them.”

Yamato’s mind turned into a blank space. He was distantly aware of the excited voices of Team 7, the delicious smell of the ramen whiffing into his nose, but his whole body went rigid at the thought…

Of being acknowledged. Being seen by the village. He wasn’t used to that, at all! Yamato’s thoughts and crazy ideas swirled around, until he needed to stuff his mouth with some ramen, just to keep himself from sputtering undignified stuttering or even worse, breaking into a stupid, incredibly happy grin at the sheer imagination of being noticed. Him and his hard work. Lost in his thoughts, Yamato completely missed the next bite of noodles, poking himself into his face with the chopsticks.

Of course, that was the moment Naruto had to look up from his already emptied bowl. “Eeeh, Yamato-taichou!” At his shout, all the other members of Team 7 also turned their heads. The sudden attention was too much for the ANBU. He could feel how the blood immediately flashed into his face, while Naruto lamented further and gestured with his chopsticks around, nearly poking out Yamato’s eye in the process. “Oh man, I only thought that Kakashi-sensei could grin this creepily, but that just nearly beats him! And you’re wasting perfectly fine ramen, taichou! Why are you so happy?”

He could explain it to the boy. He could. But then, Kakashi nudged gently, just a knee brushing against his. One look and the ANBU knew that his former captain didn’t want the teen to know yet about the full darkness and forsaken shinobi of the village. Naruto would get to know this soon enough. Just… not today.

 

“Oh, nothing Naruto.” he answered simply and this time, the chopsticks with their delicious carriage found their target. Thankfully, the blond boy left it at that and immediately threw himself upon the next poor bowl of ramen Teuchi placed in front of him. Yet, from the corner of his eyes, Sai mustered him with emotionless black eyes, all the while one of his hands reached into a pocket and brought a probably empty scroll to light. Before the young man could also get a brush and ink into his merciless, talented hands, Yamato glared weakly at him.

No way he would be the model for one of Sai’s new way of drawing. Caricatures, really? He didn’t need his grinning face immortalized in a sharp and on-point portray. But Yamato knew that his negative answer wasn’t enough for the other three, especially for Sasuke. He could feel the intense gaze of the last Uchiha on him while slurping his noodles.

He already expected some questions in the following days, just enough to get under his skin and to satisfy the need of Sasuke to know more about the darkness of Konohagakure. There was something brewing inside of him. A difficult decision; a decision which would probably lead him far, far away from his hometown once again. Not as a traitor, but as a wandering shinobi.

The only burning question was, how Naruto and Sakura would take the reoccurring leave of their friend.

Another question for tomorrow. Yamato took another bite from his noodles, enjoying the taste of the broth and the chatter of his students in the background. Just when he was biting into a slice of grilled pork, Kakashi picked up their earlier topic again, this time a bit weaker and more discreet. “They discussed a lot about it. If a shinobi should be openly honored in such a way. After all, naming a shinobi with the wood release would paint a target on your back and also admit that there were mistakes made in the past. In the end, they settled with a plaque at each of the new houses and a tree. Tsunade’s idea.”

“Where?”

“The plaques or the tree?”

“The tree.”

Kakashi flipped to the next page. His empty bowl, already emptied before the others had the chance to even take a little peek at his exposed lower face, still stood in between his elbows. “In the city center. Officially, it’s for the re-greenery of the village. After Pain destroyed everything and the houses are mostly rebuilt, they wanted to start planting flowers and other trees anyway. So, it’s a perfect excuse.”

A part of him in the city center. Yamato smiled to himself, tipped the bowl and drank the last bits of broth, small vegetables and noodles directly out of the sturdy porcelain. A tree. How fitting. People could say what they wanted about the Fifth, that she was a drinker and brash, brawled more with her fists than words, but at least, she had an admirable sense of humor speaking for her if needed.

Like this, every member of the shinobi community would know which shinobi was responsible for the rebuilding of Konoha. The only alive user of the wood release, habituated in the village hidden behind the leaves.

 

He placed the bowl back on the counter, now pleasantly satisfied and with a full stomach. “And on the plaques? What do they want to write on them?”

“Nothing too obvious, obviously.” Kakashi flipped another page, much faster than the ones before. Probably skipped a not-so-much-liked part for one he loved to bits. “Something along the line of “The will of fire also lives in the dark.” Something meant to be really mysterious and cryptic.”

“Like shinobi, like it.”

“Exactly.” Kakashi chuckled. “Underneath the underneath. You know the drill.”

“Did they,” Yamato took a deep breath in, his throat suddenly dry, “Did they also talk about Orochimaru?”

“Mhmm. A bit.”

“Senpai…”

“Maaa. You’re no fun.” With a determined clap, the colorful novel was closed and safely stored inside Kakashi’s flak vest. “They talked about him. The council of the elders actually made the suggestion to let him off the hook without any recuperations. Absolutely insane and instantly shot down by the clan heads, of course. The audacity.”

Even the usually so cool and composed Kakashi grimaced beneath the mask when he remembered that. Orochimaru was a black stain on the history of Konohagakure and brought so much pain and havoc over their lives, not only over Yamato’s. If the man would walk away unscathed from all his crimes…

Pain erupted in his thigh. Yamato glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see that one of his hands had clawed itself into his own flesh. If Orochimaru got away, then he would make it his task for life to watch over the madman. Even if it would torture him to no ends, to not have the life in the light like he secretly dreamed about. Someone had to make sure Orochimaru wouldn’t do what he did to Yamato to any other child.

“And what are they doing instead?” he asked, his fingers slowly loosening their grip.

Kakashi hummed lowly. “The only thing which makes sense. His chakra gets sealed for life and a 500 year-sentence in the Blood Prison. Maximum security. He will never do any experiments again. And Kabuto… He will face the same consequences as his master.”

Yamato released a liberating breath. Thank the gods. So, no life chasing and watching over Orochimaru and his accomplices for him. He really had better things to do with the rest of his life.

 

“Like this,” Kakashi leaned slightly backwards, his head tipping until it faced the ceiling, “they will never walk as free men again. In Orochimaru’s case, with no chance of release beforehand and with an additional trial after the 500-year period, if he makes it until then. And even then…”

“He can never use chakra again.” Yamato finished. The worst punishment of all for someone like the obsessed scientist, who went nearly completely crazy over the loss of his arms through the third Hokage. A final retribution, a small, personal victory.

The torturer of his childhood would never see the sun again. A good feeling. A light, floaty feeling, spreading through all of his limbs. It felt great. Fantastic. _Finally_. Finally, after all this time. It was more than Yamato ever hoped and all he ever could wish for. A little smile spread on his face and when Naruto’s hunger seemed sated, the smile was still on his face. Just a tug at the corner of his mouth and yet so much more than Yamato showed in all of his years in the ANBU corps.

Naruto leaned backwards, hands folded over the slight bump of his stomach. “Oh man,” a burp escaped him, what earned him a disgusted glare of Sakura, “I’m so full! That was awesome!”

“Urgh, Naruto!” The medic rolled her eyes. “Learn some manners! If you want to be the Hokage in a few years, then you also need to learn not to eat so much and foremost, not that fast!”

“Eeeh, that’s something for later. Right now, Iruka-sensei and Kakashi-sensei are only torturing me with history and stuff, believe it!”

“First the rank of a jonin,” Kakashi had again his book out, “then the mantle of the Hokage. And hurry up, I don’t want to be in this position for more than two years.”

“You’re so mean to me, Kakashi-sensei!”

“Mhm. Learn faster.” But the man was also smiling underneath his mask.

The banter also continued when Team 7 in its entirety got up and paid for their respective meals (like always, Kakashi wanted to dump his share on someone, but a determined grip of Sakura on his sleeve and the man was forced to pay for himself) and walked out of the stall. Teuchi and his daughter Ayame were busy cleaning up the small tower of ramen bowls Naruto left behind. Their little round was about to split up, but Yamato was still happy. A good day, with chats, good news and relaxation. So different than his life before.

Before Team 7.

 

Until Sakura threw in a very good argument.

“Hey, if Kakashi is about to be inaugurated, he can’t leave the village. Will be Yamato-taichou our team leader again? So that we can still work as a unit?”

At that, Yamato’s ears perked up. Wait. Now, that they were free to do whatever they wanted (as the genius student of the Fifth Hokage, the last Uchiha and the one boy who saved the world) they still wanted to stay in Team 7? Their old team, with him as their captain?

Flabbergasted, he watched and listened how Kakashi placed a hand at his chin, obviously thinking not-so-deeply (later, Yamato would figure out that his senpai already had something like this in mind) about Sakura’s question, before nodding sharply. “It seems to me like the only logical solution. You are used to each other, work well in a team and can use a jonin of his experience. That means, if he wants to?”

All eyes were suddenly set on the brunet. Big, blue, begging eyes. Wide, sea-green, questioning ones. Black, emotionless eyes which assessed the symmetry of his face just as well as the potential to kill him, probably. And another pair of dark, expressionless, but still slightly curious eyes. In the face of such overwhelming demand and his own wildly cheering thoughts, Yamato could only nod weakly.

The cheers of his team, which he thought disbanded after the war, rung in his ears like a merciful dream. Was this still the Tsukuyomi? Was this still an illusion? Fooling his senses to the point where he thought this dream was reality?

He had a place. A place where he belonged. Friends, comrades, who liked and appreciated him for who he was and what he did. Yamato, the jonin. Yamato, the human. Yamato, as a person.

If this was another Tsukuyomi, he didn’t want to wake up.

Still overthrown, he nodded weakly, again, ignoring the screeches and whoops of joy from Naruto and Sakura, Sai’s small, real smile, and the simple wave of a single hand from Sasuke. The reactions of his team. _His_ team. Even when they all went on their different ways, Naruto pestering Kakashi about their next lesson, Sakura walking towards the hospital, muttering about medications and her oncoming shift today, Sai thinking for a moment, before he wandered into a random direction, his hands already fiddling with a brush and scroll, and Sasuke standing for a moment with Yamato, feeling maybe just as lost and confused as the man did, then turning towards the training fields. Not without a little nod of acknowledgement, though.

 

It was definitely a good day. Not even his usually so dark and depressing memories could weigh Yamato down as he took the walk towards the market, steps light and lowly humming a little melody. His fridge was nearly empty and the marketplace made Yamato often feel a little bit less dangerous and far away from the rest of humanity, especially when he would start to haggle a bit with the nice old lady who had the best apples in the whole Fire country.

The closer the man got to the marketplace, the more people filled the streets, until he could only take one step at a time without having to squeeze his wide frame through the crowd. And then, finally. The newly built and shaped streets opened to a wide, open space. Loud shouts of advertisement flew to the air, farmers haggling and offering their goods with years of practice and expertise, while civilians carried their loads into their homes and wandered around the different stalls, inspecting the vegetables, fruits and other handmade objects. It was a great, lively place to be and Yamato enjoyed the noise of the busy village life even more than usual.

Slowly, he made his way over to the first stand he wanted to visit. A great display of different fruits greeted him. Apples, peaches, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and a large assortment of different nuts Yamato especially looked forward too as a small snack in between grocery shopping.

The old lady behind the stall greeted him with her usual excitement, while her nimble, old fingers were busy crocheting yet another pair of socks for one of her countless grandsons. “Good ol’ mornin’, shinobi. Good to see ya again! Here for ma apples?”

“Of course, I am, Hisa,” he joked back. “And also to enjoy your pleasant company, as usual.”

“Oh, y’old charmer!” Hisa giggled like a young schoolgirl, before gesturing towards her display. “Take what ya want. Ya know ma prices an’ where th’ bags are.”

Yes, Yamato was one of these usual-suspect customers which only shopped at their respective stalls and was known by the owners by heart. The familiarity of the process, the familiar faces and the top-notch produce were also great additions.

Still humming, the man reached over the counter and grabbed one of the brown paper-bags. The material crinkled between his fingers as he unfolded the paper and set his eyes on the display. Delicious red apples, sour green apples, full and juicy strawberries…

 

Just when he reached towards the basket of strawberries, another hand came into view. Young, not full of wrinkles. His and the other hand bumped into each other, a slender index and middle finger brushing over the back of his hand.

Instantly, Yamato pulled back. “Excuse me,” he muttered, “I wasn’t…”

A warm voice answered, shy and sweet and sending pleasant goose bumps down his spine. “Oh no, it was me who wasn’t looking. I’m so sorry.”

He looked up. And was stunned. The most incredible pair of eyes looked back and if Yamato was right, they were just as stunned as he was. Slowly, he took in the whole figure of his encounter in and with every passing second, he could feel the blood creeping into his cheeks.

She was exactly his type. A dream come true.

Gods. If this was still the Tsukuyomi, then he really didn’t want to wake up, ever again. Just replaying this sweet and easy encounter over and over.

“Excuse me,” he smiled at the woman, hoping desperately that his voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it did. “I didn’t look where I was…”

“Me neither.” She smiled sweetly at him and his heart jumped into his throat.

“Do you want to go first?”

“No, right after you.”

“Sure? It’s not a problem for me.”

“For me neither,” she repeated.

“I’m sorry,” he also echoed and couldn’t help but to break into a little, dumbfounded grin when she also giggled, one hand raised to cover her grinning mouth. She was gorgeous like this, flushed and laughing and full of color. Yamato could only stand and stare, while the woman wiped a strand of her hair backwards, only for the strand to fall immediately into place.

“So,” she said and gestured to the fruits, “How do we do this now?”

“I think you can get some of the strawberries first,” he answered. With a twitch of the arm which held the paper bag, the man chuckled. “I will wait.”

Yamato was more than aware of the amused glances he received from Hisa. The old, wrinkly woman looked back and forth between them, before snorting and going back to her crocheting work.

 

He watched how the woman — around his age, he was pretty sure — carefully selected some strawberries and placed them one after another in a small basket she brought with her. Only these fruits. Then, with another shy glance at him, the woman spoke up again, still with a sweet, incredibly soft voice. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Yamato.”

“Yamato? Just that?”

“Yes. Just that.” A short twinge of fear tainted his mind, before the jonin straightened his shoulders. “I was an orphan.”

An explanation a civilian would accept. If he would recall the whole, terribly dark story… No, that would be too much for the first meeting. Being an orphan was part of the truth and already more than Yamato ever told someone at their first meeting.

The face of his encounter wrinkled up into a grimace of empathy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, “it’s… It’s not easy. I know that.”

“Who did you…?”

“My father. A chunin. The war doesn’t let everybody go.”

“I’m sorry,” Yamato repeated for the third time in a short period, and he meant it, “he must’ve been a good man.”

Her smile turned sad. “Yes. He was. The best.” She shook her head, before looking at him again, cheeks rosy and lips slightly parted. “And you?”

“Unfortunately, I’m of the same breed.”

A shadow laid over her eyes as she nodded, understanding, recalculating, accepting. “Oh. Well… There’s worse out there.”

Now or never. His throat was uncomfortably dry as Yamato stretched his hand out, the limb weakly trembling while he waited in anxiety. “And with whom I have the pleasure?”

“Oh th’ heavens!” They jerked away from each other, while Hisa shook her head and counted the rows of the socks, “Jus’ go on a date, for th’ love of th’ gods! Worse than ma husband when he asked me out th’ first time.”

Everything was lost. Yamato closed his eyes and counted the seconds. Too pushy, too straightforward. There went his chance to have a nice date with a beautiful woman. He would’ve continued to beat himself up over the wasted opportunity, if not for the soft giggle erupting right beside him.

 

“A date, huh?” the still nameless stranger asked and looked up to him. “I wouldn’t say no to that, actually.”

“R-really?” The question came faster out than Yamato could control his mouth from uttering it. He coughed, before lowering his voice back to his usual, low tone. “I mean, yeah. Sure, I would love that.”

“We can take a little walk around the market, maybe? If you don’t mind, I still have to go shopping and I didn’t think at all I would meet-! Oh gods, this is embarrassing.” The stranger buried her face in her hands, but Yamato quickly interjected.

“Yeah, me too.” He paused, tongue in a tight knot. “About the meeting-you-part and going grocery shopping and yes, not being able to talk in straight sentences. I would really like to walk around the market with you. Really, really would like to,” he repeated and watched full of wonder how she brightened up again, so expressive and open like no other person he got to know until now.

She laughed awkwardly, before shaking her head. “I really didn’t think my day would go this way, you know? It feels a bit unreal. Is that you? Is this one of your illusions?”

Yamato scrambled for some coins and leaned over to drop them in Hisa’s expectantly held-out hand, all of it without taking his eyes off of the stranger. “No,” he answered and offered his bent arm to her, which she accepted with a little smile, “I also had no idea and have also trouble comprehending what is happening.”

Not an illusion. The sun shone, it was warm and the feeling of the hand in the crook of his arm… was amazing, so _normal_ , that Yamato could do nothing about the smile on his face or the happiness curling in his chest.

If this was still the Tsukuyomi, he would gladly stay forever inside of it. But when he had been captured in the eternal illusion, something had felt wrong, a twinge in his guts and a tingle in his brain, telling him that something about the whole scenery was too perfect.

This time, there was no such feeling. This time, it was real. And Yamato gladly took the current reality over the past dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much Chisie for proofreading!! <3


End file.
